


Heartbreak He Supposes

by writetheniteaway



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 7x13 fix-it, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Sanctum (The 100)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writetheniteaway/pseuds/writetheniteaway
Summary: A prompt for T100ficforBLM (it was prompted as spec, but timelines being what they are has become a fix-it!) for Bellarke facing a second red Sun together, and eventual Normal!Bellamy being back.Bellamy and Clarke reluctantly wait out the Red Sun together. Can they find a way to mend their differences before it's too late?
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 48
Kudos: 114
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	Heartbreak He Supposes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queentheea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queentheea/gifts).



> With gratitude to Madison for being an amazing beta and helping me get this from passable to something I’m proud of. 
> 
> Written as a prompt fill for t100ficforBLM, please see notes at the end for more information on how to send a prompt.

“Clarke—”

“Don’t talk to me,” she says, striding ahead of him at a determined clip. 

“I’m trying to help—” he follows after her.

“I said don’t talk to me,” she snaps. 

“If you didn’t want to talk to me, why am I here?” he asks her. It caught him by surprise, that she had demanded he be allowed to go with her to collect the key. The Shepherd had agreed, and Bellamy was proud to have his trust, and confused why Clarke would want to be anywhere near him, when she had been so emphatic in her disdain. 

He knows he isn’t supposed to care about either of those things; of course the Shepherd trusts him. He’s a Disciple now, part of the cause, and it was that simple. On the other hand, he was supposed to forgo attachment, so why is he still racking his brain trying to understand exactly what it is Clarke’s getting at demanding he come along? 

“It doesn’t need to be like this,” she hadn’t listened the first time, but when had that ever stopped him before. 

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he insists. “You know that!” 

“No, I don’t.” 

That shuts him up. He tries to play it off, but he’s sure she reads his silence for the guilt that it is. 

“Let’s just get the damn thing and get my friends back,” she says, the significance of my and not our salt in his wound.

He looks at her brokenly, like in the cell on Bardo, hoping she’ll amend her words but no mercy comes.

They arrive at the farmhouse. Clarke kneels beneath the tree, grabbing a nearby stick and starting to scrape at the dirt. 

“You buried it?” he asks incredulously. 

“The commanders are dead,” she says flatly. “Move the light so I can see.”

He shifts the light to his other hand. Bellamy suddenly becomes very aware of how vulnerable a position she’s in, kneeling on the ground with her back to him. He could take the flame and leave her out cold. They could take Madi and seal the bridge to Bardo all before she came to. 

He wouldn’t do that. But he thought it, and that’s enough for him to shift nervously, and she must have come to the same conclusion because she’s suddenly tenser, if that were possible. 

“Back up,” she demands. 

The hurt puppy look returns to his face, but he steps back out of swinging range. 

“Why are you making this so hard?” he asks despondently. 

“Why are you?” she counters, struggling against a tree root.

“Because I am trying to keep you safe! The Shepherd has no use for you once you give him this, telling him you believe is the only thing that will keep you alive!” Bellamy says urgently. “Why don’t you see that?”

If his words come as a shock to her, she won’t let it show. 

“Why don’t you see that he’s manipulating you,” she pleads. “He tortured Octavia, of course he knows what your mother looks like, about Echo, about me. You aren’t like him Bellamy, no matter what he says.”

“Maybe if I was more like him we wouldn’t have had half the problems we did,” he says. “How can you be so against their way of life when it’s exactly the advice you gave me?”

She stops digging, turning to face him with fire in her eyes. “How dare you—“

“The disciples were born from the greatest minds of their time,” Bellamy presses on. “Every decision they make is based on keeping their people alive, all of their people. And they don’t let anything as weak as loving one person stop them from doing what has to be done!” 

Clarke stares at him stunned, as speechless as she’d been when he had arrived in the Shepherd’s quarters. Distantly, the sirens echo from Sanctum proper, and her head whips towards them in a panic.

“Madi,” she whispers, terrified, returning to digging frantically in the ground. 

Bellamy stares at her helplessly; his instinct to drag her somewhere safe at war with his desire to serve the Shepherd and return the flame. 

“There’s anti-toxin in the hall closet of the house, enough for everyone in the machine shop and your damn cult leader,” she tosses over her shoulder, scraping further into the ground. When he hasn’t moved towards the house a moment later she follows with a furious, “Now Bellamy!”

It shouldn’t warm him the way it does that Madi is in danger and Clarke has entrusted him with this small part in her protection, but it does. Maybe, just maybe, there is enough of a frayed tether line between the two of them left that he can reach her.

He makes the run to the house efficiently but not as quickly as he could have, and he finds himself regretting not for the first time the robes that limit his range of motion. He nearly collides with Clarke on the porch, clutching the flame and a silver chain both tight in her fist.

He hands her an anti-toxin dose that she brings to her lips in one fluid motion, never breaking her stride back towards Sanctum.

“Let’s move,” she says briskly, reaching to take the bag from him and tossing him his own single dose. He inhales it quickly, shaking his head to clear the sensation. 

“Maybe we should wait this out,” he says hesitantly. 

“Not an option,” she seethes at him. 

“There’s a lot of people between the machine shop and here who want you dead,” he reminds her, “and not all of them have an anti-toxin handy.”

“Your Shepherd wants this,” she shakes her closed fist containing the flame. “As fast as possible, or he won’t give me my friends back.” She stalks off again. 

“And if you die between here and there he’s got no reason to bring any of them back. It’s extra time that doesn’t serve the war effort,” Bellamy argues, still trailing behind her. 

She doesn’t challenge him on if he would allow the Shepherd to get away with that or not, and he’s relieved. He isn’t sure of the answer himself, and the more he thinks about it the more that starts to make him feel unsettled. 

“I need to get to Madi.” Clarke insists. 

The sky crackles and a buzz that rises into a roar fills their ears, and of course now things are worse, the radiation shield is down. Clarke moves to keep marching towards the village despite the sudden shift in atmosphere. Bellamy groans in frustration as she increases the space between them. 

“Clarke, stop!” 

“Stay if you want to,” she shouts back at him. She has her head bent against the growing wind, so it’s Bellamy that sees the swarm heading towards her. 

Will he ever stop trying to save this woman?

Before she can react Bellamy has his arm around her waist, dragging her back towards the porch. He forces her through the door, shutting it tight behind them.

“Damnit Bellamy—“

“Hate me if you want to, but you’d be dead by now if you had kept walking.” 

She doesn’t acknowledge that he was right, but she does say “We should go down the basement. We don’t know if the windows will hold.” Progress. 

Bellamy doesn’t push her, just grateful she’s finally seeing a glimmer of reason, and follows her down the stairs, fumbling for the light switch as he goes.

For an underground shelter to survive homicidal tendency inducing air-born toxins, it could be worse. There was a couch and some chairs, a wall of books, food stores and water. Downright cozy to live in, and practically luxurious as a place to wait out carnivorous bugs and toxic air.

The air could be toxic.

He remembers every detail of that exchange as if it were burned into his very essence. He doubts she’s reminiscing about the day they landed on the ground, if the ramrod stature of her spine and vengeful stare were any indication.

This is all wrong. It’s Clarke for crying out loud. What he wouldn’t have given for a few hours alone with her, and now that it’s here she can barely stand to be anywhere near him, let alone talk to him. And that’s what they need most, he’s convinced—to talk. He could make her understand. Make her believe, if not in transcendence, then at least in him. 

“Can we talk?” he asks. She merely glares at him, maintaining her icy demeanor and pacing back and forth like he’s got her trapped in a cage. 

“Clarke please,” he says, his desperate tone making his sincerity plain. 

“I have nothing to say to you,” she says. 

Bellamy shakes his head defeatedly, planting himself on one of the chairs. “Fine.”

There’s no getting through to her like this and he knows it. He’ll have to settle for the fact that she hasn’t tried to kill him yet; so this is still not the worst fight they’ve ever had. A small consolation. 

“Fine,” she agrees. She continues pacing back and forth pensively. 

“We’re going to be here at least a few hours, so you might as well try and get some rest.” The words leave his mouth before he can fully process that he’s said them. 

Clarke stops in her tracks, looking at him quizzically. 

“It’s not a trick,” he informs her. “You’re the one looking for a fight.”

“You’re the one who—“

“I’m the one trying to save all of us! Trying to end—“

“Save it,” she holds her hand up. “You can recite every word out of that little book and I will still never help you, or your Shepherd.” She spits the word at him.

“You’re helping him right now,” Bellamy points out. She’s used him as a punching bag long enough, and he can feel himself losing his cool. He expects her to scream, but instead she responds with murderous calm.

“Because if I don’t he will kill them.” She steps towards him menacingly. 

“Hope,” She says bitterly. “Niylah, Jordan,” 

He swallows hard.

“Miller.” She stands square in front of him, and he feels like she’s reading names off a list written in his own blood. “Echo,” 

his chest tightens. 

“Octavia.”

“Do you honestly think I would be doing any of this if I didn’t believe, with everything I have, that it was the right choice?” He explodes, standing quickly, forcing her to step back. “There’s no chip in my head, no one is controlling me. I know what I saw, what I felt. It was real. Etherea was real,” he chokes against his emotions. “My mom, she was real. I felt her.” 

“Jaha floated your mother over a hundred years ago,” Clarke says, her tone suddenly much kinder than a moment ago. “There’s no way she could have been—“

“You weren’t there,” he cuts her off. “You don’t know what I saw, what I survived!”

Something changes in her face, a realization of some kind that he doesn’t fully understand.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him. She shuffles back and forth awkwardly, deciding finally to sit herself on the edge of the couch, distant from him but not as far as she could be.

“I’m sorry we didn’t come for you sooner. I’m sorry you felt alone.” But that wasn’t her fault, she hadn’t meant for it to be that way. That much, he knew for sure, or they never would have been on Bardo in the first place.

“I don’t blame you,” he says quickly. “There’s no way you could have known.” 

“No, there wasn’t,” she agrees. “Except that they came here, and threatened to kill all of you if I didn’t follow them to Bardo.”

His eyes snap up to meet hers. He didn’t know anything about that. 

“They thought I had the flame,” she reminds him. “And so they threatened you, and Octavia and Echo to bring me there.”

“You of all people know what it’s like to make sacrifices—“

“That’s not my point,” she continues over his defenses, raising an eyebrow to see if he’ll continue protesting or let her continue. He looks at her, trying to read her face but it’s a mystery. But she’s talking to him, and that’s progress, so he falls silent and lets her continue.

“The Children of Gabriel wanted Russell dead, the people from Sanctum were threatening to kill themselves if we didn’t let him go. Eligius was out for blood because they had nothing better to do, and Wonkru was still looking to my daughter to be their savior,” she cocks her head to the side as if none of that was more than an inconvenience.

“All of that chaos, and I walked through a portal without a second thought because you were in trouble. And it’s what you would have done for me.” 

Bellamy holds her breath. It isn’t like Clarke to speak so plainly. About rations and strategy, sure, but not about this, about them.

“We almost died on Nakara, all of us.” She says it simply, just another day on the ground after all. “And then we finally make it to Bardo, and Gabriel tells us you’re dead.” Even though it’s clear the memories are painful, speaking the words aloud are helping her. He can see some of the tension leaving her posture, settling herself further back onto the couch.

“I thought we were too late,” she says regretfully. “I swore I wouldn’t lose anyone else, and you were just—gone.” 

He knows that regret intimately. It had fused with his grief on the ring and sunk into the marrow of his bones. More pain than he would wish on his worst enemy, let alone on Clarke. 

“You didn’t fail me,” he tells her, because it feels like the right thing to say.

“I know I didn’t.” She glares at him, worrying the chain in her hands. 

So much for making progress. He thinks about asking to see the key, ensure she hasn’t hidden it or switched it somehow. But he’s been with her the whole time, and more importantly, he trusts her. They fall back into their uncomfortable silence.

Bellamy stands, making a point to keep her in his line of sight, yet another instinctual habit that’s suddenly twisting for a new purpose. All he’s been taught is screaming at him not to care what she thinks, that transcendence is worth the cost of this temporary pain born out of something as trivial as human affection. 

But it’s Clarke, and she’s got the look on her face that means she’s upset but no one else can know about it. But he knows what it means, and it’s breaking his heart that he’s why it’s there. 

He pulls a pair of rations off the shelf and returns to his spot, offering one to her. Another olive branch. She hesitates a moment before taking it from him, and when her hand grazes against his for half a second his entire body becomes a live wire, and if the way she snatched her hand back is any indication she felt something similar. 

Bellamy sits in the same place again, respecting the space she’s put between them, picking at his rations pack quietly for a while, glancing at her when he dares to make sure she’s actually eating some of hers.

“I don’t want us to be on opposite sides,” he says slowly, after a few minutes. 

“I’m not the reason we are,” she says coldly. “Not this time.” 

“I’m sorry for what happened,” he says sincerely. “I didn’t want any of you to get hurt.”

“You’re a liar,” she says to him bluntly, the depths of her rage finally spilling out. “And a coward.” Her words cut as they’re meant to, but he can’t find it in himself to be angry.

“I’m trying to protect you,” he attempts to reason with her. 

“I don’t need you,” she states firmly. “You give me my family back, you go and win your last war, and leave us to live our lives.”

“Clarke, just think about it, everything we’ve been hoping for. No more fighting, no more fear or pain—“

“I said no!” She’s on her feet again, desperate to get space from him. He follows her with his eyes only, watching her retreat to the far corner of the room. “You made your choice,” she says and he can hear the effort she’s making not to let her tears pour out. “And I wasn’t a part of it, so go fight your damn war and leave me alone!” Her best efforts fail, and she sobs violently, alone in the corner. 

Bellamy can count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Clarke cry; always when there were lives at stake, or worse lives lost. Never though, over something as trivial as her feelings. Never because of something he’d done. Angry at him, that he knew well. But this, heartbreak he supposes is the word, this he has no experience with. And it terrifies him. 

“Don’t cry,” he says softly, stepping cautiously towards her. “Please, don’t―”

“Stay away from me,” she shrieks. He blinks and her gun is trained on his heart, her hands shaking. It’s his turn to swallow back tears. How could they have fallen so far? 

What had he done? 

“Don’t,” He says cautiously. “It’s okay,”

“No it’s not.” She shakes her head, still taking aim at him. 

“You’re right,” he says. “It’s not. None of this is okay,” 

“Then why are you doing this?” she demands of him. “Why are you choosing this, this thing over us? We’re your family!”

There’s so much she isn’t understanding, so much she doesn’t know, but he isn’t about to try and explain it again staring down the barrel of her gun. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he confesses. “I am so, unbelievably sorry that you think that I am choosing this instead of you,”

“Don’t lie to me,” she scoffs at him. 

“I’m not,” he says, hedging his bets and taking a single step closer to her. “I hate this,” he says. “I hate that we don’t agree, and what the Shepherd did to you, and what he did to our friends. I hate it.”

She looks at him in disbelief, hand still trembling against the trigger. He takes her silence as some shred of acceptance and dares to move a step closer. 

“I know you’re worried about Madi, and how you’re going to get everyone back and keep them safe.” 

He’s treading on dangerous ground to acknowledge the danger they’re in, but he can’t think of any other way that she will feel heard. 

“I can save them,” she chokes out. “How do I save you?” 

He wants to be defensive at her words, because she’s got it backwards, he’s the one in the least danger, the one most equipped to help them all survive, but that’s not a case he can make while she’s still got the gun. 

“I don’t need saving,” he says as diplomatically as he can. 

“He’s lying to you!” she shrieks, straightening her hand on the gun to keep him from coming closer. “It’s all a lie.”

“No,” Bellamy shakes his head. “It’s real, Clarke, and it’s beautiful, and warm and safe and this can all just stop. No more impossible choices,” he makes a pointed look at the gun. “No more wars that no one wins.” 

“A war to end all wars,” she says brokenly. “It doesn’t make any sense.” 

“All I’m asking you to do is trust me,” he steps towards her more quickly. “Not the Shepherd, or Doucette or the prayers, just me.” 

She tries to keep the gun steady but her hand trembles. She collapses into herself and his mind drags him back to the bunker, over a hundred years ago and a world away, and even now after all he’s done, all the pain he’s caused, she can’t take the shot. 

“I’ll never be enough,” she sobs openly. 

He wants to comfort her, to tell her that she’s enough simply for trying, for caring so much about humanity that she would destroy herself to keep the human race alive. She was everything, everything that the disciples stood for, how could she still not see? 

“You’ve already done so much,” he assures her. “You have survived so much. But you have a chance now, to let all of that suffering go.” He reaches out slowly, half expecting her to put a bullet through his chest-and half feeling he would deserve it. Instead she crumbles, releasing the gun into his steady hands. He steps back quickly, making short work of disarming the loaded weapon.

“The last war, it's the end of all of this. This pain that’s eating you alive, it doesn’t have to.”

“So transcendence will take away my pain?” she asks.

“Yes,” he promises her. Finally, she’s starting to understand.

“You stood over my body and fought off ALIE so that we could keep our humanity,” she says, her conviction sending ice through his veins. “How is this different?” 

“That’s not...it’s—” Bellamy stammers. 

“Cadogan had Becca burned at the stake because she created nightblood,” Clarke tells him hurriedly. “He left everyone he loved to die on Earth.” 

She comes to a sick realization.

“Maybe that’s why you and he get along,” she spits. “Shared experiences and all that.” She may as well have shot him for the pain that courses through his heart at that statement, and now it’s his turn to bite back tears. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says weakly. 

“I know that you were the only person I could trust,” She’s going to cry again, and has given up all attempts to hide it. “The only person who I knew would have my back no matter what. You left me to die, and I forgave you.” 

Bellamy winces. 

“You put Madi in danger, and I forgave you. You sold me out to Cadogan because he showed you some projections of balls of light and images of your mom that he stole out of Octavia’s head, and I still forgive you,” 

“It wasn’t a lie—” 

His protests are interrupted by her fist colliding with his jaw, rattling his teeth. She seems satisfied with the sensation of her fists colliding with his flesh, and takes aim again. He catches her wrist in his hand, holding her only tight enough to keep her from throwing another punch. 

“Just days ago you refused to let me die,” she seethes. “You risked everyone we love to get Josephine out of my head, and then expect me to just let your Shepherd waltz through my mind instead?”

It’s hard to argue when she puts it that way, and harder still when she’s fighting to land her fists across his face again. 

“Clarke stop!” he shouts, pinning her against the wall, caging her body between the cool cement blocks and his body, radiating furious heat. 

“Let go of me,” she demands. 

“Clarke,” he says again, reaching for her face, trying to calm her.

“I said let me go!” She’s enraged anew, trying her best to push him off, useless effort though it may be. 

“Just calm down,” he begs. 

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” She’s practically vibrating in front of him, consumed by her rage.

“This is exactly why the Shepherd teaches what he does, selfishness like this is why, this is what causes all of the destruction,” If he were stronger, better, he’d let her go. Let her rage and cry. He could take the key, lock her in, and not look back. But he was too pathetic to let it be that simple. No he had to have everything. His friends' approval, his family, and transcendence. She has to understand, he can’t lose her. 

“Please, Clarke. I’m too selfish to do it alone.”

“Loving you is the most selfish thing I’ve ever done,” she says quietly, going limp beneath him. “And it’s still not enough to save you.” 

Clarke slides down the wall, hugging her arms around herself as if it might keep her from falling to pieces. Bellamy watches her, trying to make sense of what she’s telling him. She can’t mean it in the way he would. He’d been a breath away from telling her in Gabriel’s tent. He’d been ready to talk with Echo, had planned to, on the walk back from exploring the anomaly. But then, like always, the universe stood in the way, bringing him to something bigger than themselves. Showed him transcendence, a path to true peace. 

But if she does mean it, as more than partners and co-leaders and best friends. If she does love him, as much as he loves―loved―no, loves her, then he’s doomed. He can never succeed as a disciple if he keeps being ruled by his own wants, his own selfish need to protect everyone he loves at any cost, but he loves her too much to stop now. 

He loves her, intently and intimately and in all of the destructive passionate ways that will consume him and keep him from serving the collective, the cause, the war. But it’s Clarke. And that’s been all the reason he’s ever needed to damn himself, damn them all. The few times he’s chosen anything other than her haunt him. It’s Clarke. 

If she loves him, then what the hell is he doing leaving her to cry alone on the floor?  
His body catches up with his mind at that point, and he kneels in front of her. He tenses, anticipating her lashing out again, but when no assault comes he reaches for her face tentatively, running his thumb across her tear-soaked cheek. The gesture comforts her until she remembers herself, and that brings a fresh wave of anguish over her. 

“I love you too,” he says, so quietly he’s not sure she’ll even hear it, but she must have because her eyes snap to his. 

“Don’t,” she shakes her head. “Don’t you dare say it now.” 

He looks at her desperately. “I’m sorry,”

“Don’t say that either,” he’s not sure who arranged it, but her hand is tight in his and suddenly everything he found so complicated is simple. 

“Clarke…” it’s a prayer and a plea that she’ll understand. Read his mind, his heart the way that only she can. 

“Tell me I can trust you,” She begs in return. “Tell me that you’re back, that you’re mine,” 

“I’m here,” he says, and it’s not enough but it’s all he knows for sure. “I love you,” maybe if he says it a hundred more times what it all means will start to make sense.

“Please Bellamy,” He doesn’t know what she’s asking, or how to even begin to answer. But he leans his forehead against hers, keeps her hand tight in his and cradles her face. 

“I love you,” He murmurs again. “I need you.”

Clarke barrels into his chest, clinging to him like a life raft. Bellamy’s arms circle around her, holding her tight, tears falling to match hers. “I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, broken by shame. “I need you, please help me. Please.” 

“Look at me.” It’s her turn to cradle his face in her hand, smoothing her thumb across his jaw. “Bellamy...” 

His lip quivers, his whole body trembling against her. 

“I forgive you,” she says, slowly, giving him time to hear every word. “For all of it.” 

“I don’t deserve it—”

“It’s not about deserving.”

“I still believe it though,” he breaks again when her eyes go wide with horror. “It’s real, Clarke.”

“Alright,” she says, fighting to keep herself together, keep them together. “Okay,” She resolves, and his mind falls back to the way she set her mind to free Atom from his pain eons ago. For one horrifying moment he wishes she would show him the same mercy, make the confusion and shame bleed out of him, let him rest. 

“If you believe in it then we will figure out what it all means,” she vows to him. “We will get our family back, and we will figure it out.” 

“The Shepherd—”

“You cannot trust Cadogan,” Clarke says harshly. “He’s just like The Primes, he built this faith to protect himself, to keep himself in power.”

“He didn’t build the anomaly,” Bellamy argues. “He learned about transcendence he didn’t create it.”

“But he built the reasons why he’s the only person allowed to make decisions, he built excuses to banish people who disagreed with him.”

“So did we,” he says, face riddled with shame. 

“For our people,” she corrects him. “To make sure that we survived.” 

Bellamy shakes his head. “You did it for our people. I did it to protect Octavia.” He nearly shatters. “I did it to protect you.” 

“Look at me,” she demands again, gripping his chin tightly. “You are not like him. You care about everyone, you love people with everything you have. People follow you because they can trust you, because they know that you want what is best for them. And God, do you have any idea how much I wish you would care more about yourself?” He meets her gaze, stunned to silence by her words. 

“You are nothing like him,” she repeats. “Your love is not weakness, it’s your strength.You know better than to think that the ends justify the means. How we survive is just as important as if we do or not.” She leans her forehead against his. “I still don’t understand all of it, but if Jordan is right, if you are right, then there’s no one else I’d want to take that test but you. You’re the best person I know.” 

Bellamy buries his face against her shoulder, resting his cheek over her racing heart. She cards her hands through his hair, fury raging through her body that one pathetic excuse for a man has broken Bellamy so completely. “It’s alright,” she promises him. “We’re okay.” 

He’ll never see himself the way she does. How can she forgive him so easily when he’s destroyed so much, put his entire family in danger, put her in danger?

“I should have stopped him,” Bellamy says, fladulating himself for his poor judgment. “I should never have let him send them away-”

“You thought you were doing the right thing,” Clarke says, as always more generous than he deserves. “He lied to you,”

But he knew that Cadogan was a threat; even before Apocalypse One he had been wasteful with lives, all to serve his own mission. Cadogan was not the first finder of the anomaly, or known as the one who discovered transcendence. Bellamy had gotten swept up in the show of it all, had forgotten the hard learned lessons. “I thought they would be safe, that all I had to do was follow orders and he would let me protect you.” 

“We will get them back,” Clarke answers fiercely, leaving no room for debate. “And we will keep Cadogan from starting another useless war. Whatever it takes.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. For being weak, for failing her, for crying against her breast like a child instead of being the strength by her side. 

“I forgive you,” she says again softly, absolving him instantly. She’d say it a hundred more times if he needed to hear it, to believe her, believe in himself again. “I love you,” she says, not for the first time if they’re being precise but for the first time he can hear it, and understand the full gravity of the words and their meaning when they fall from her lips. Clarke’s lips. 

They kiss, gun to his head he’ll never know who started it. It’s everything he’s ever dreamt; from the first night on the ground with some other blonde fling beneath him, lonely nights in space, believing he would never see her lips again save for memories, the cell that Diyoza held her in, when he was breathing life into her lips because if her heart had truly stopped his would have followed with it. 

She’s soft and warm, everything she won’t let anyone else see, and best of all she’s kissing him back. Her softness soothing his jagged wounds, her warmth igniting a fire within him. It isn’t destruction, not a raging inferno, but the warmth of a hearth, a life sustaining force of nature. Kissing Clarke is like finally coming home.

“We should go,” she says reluctantly, catching her breath whether a minute or an hour later he isn’t sure. A small, mischievous grin appears on her face. “Do you want to change?” 

Bellamy gives a short laugh, smoothing his hand down her arm to take her hand again. “The Shepherd needs to believe I’m still a disciple. We’re outgunned and outnumbered, we need an inside man.” 

Clarke shakes her head, lip quivering. “No, no you’re not going back to him.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says softly, tangling his fingers through her hair, quieting her. 

“I just got you back,” she says dejectedly. 

“I have to do this,” He tells her plainly. “I have to fix this.”

She squeezes his hand tightly, kisses him again because she’s allowed to want that now, and more importantly allowed to do it.

“I’m yours,” he promises her against the corner of her mouth, pulling her hand up to press against his chest. “It’s yours.” Clarke keeps still, counting the beats of his heart. Her heart. One and the same. She nods in agreement of his plan, wishing to whatever stars above this is the last time he’s in harm's way to save their people, forcing the fear that she won’t ever have another moment like this one as far away as she can. 

“Close your eyes,” she says. He obliges her instantly. Clarke kisses him tenderly, fumbling at the collar of his ridiculous robes. Bellamy leans in to the sensation, drawing back when he feels cool metal against the hollow of his throat, the smooth feeling of her father’s wedding ring balanced over his heart. 

“Are you sure?” he asks her.

“To help you remember,” she says solemnly. “So you’ll come back to me,” Clarke does up the collar of his robe again, finishing with one last searing kiss. 

Bellamy stands first, pulling her up afterwards. He still isn’t sure what the next step is, how they’ll manage to destabilize yet another religion without getting themselves separated or killed. Can’t figure out what it means to have a final test but no Shepherd to guide him through it. 

But Clarke’s hand is inside his, and she’s running her thumb across his skin, and sneaking one last kiss onto his shoulder, his cheek, his lips before they separate again, to keep up the charade. The cool metal of her father’s ring warmed by the heat of his skin, a weight just solid enough that he can remember. He’s got Clarke with him. They won’t fail.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as a prompt for The 100 Fic for BLM. More information on the initiative and how to prompt can be found [HERE](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/) Thank you for reading, and I hope this makes some people feel a bit better. I know it did for me.


End file.
